Municipal Hospital

Kumma, Kirikhanistan

Hollywood shifted, all that unresolved sexual frustration electrifying the air. The yelling was loud in the exam room, and nurses and doctors glanced toward that direction every so often. It sounded like Wicked and Kat were going to kill each other. Ha! That woman had a hide like a rhino and the disposition of one. Whatever she couldn’t ram over, she’d gore with that sharp mouth of hers.

But this didn’t have anything to do with danger or with finding out what had happened—they were still in the “need to know” vacuum. And as special operators and freaking alpha males, it was sticking in everyone’s craw.

No, this was about sexual tension. He just wished the two of them would fuck and get it over with. He’d even tried to help it along by getting Wicked jealous. Hitting on Kat felt strange, as Hollywood never coveted a buddy’s girl, but it was for a good cause, and he was damn good at it.

Except the two of them were stubborn as hell and had some major shit going on between them. If the volume were any indication, Kat, injured or not, was going to kick Wicked’s ass.

“If she takes him down, I want to see that,” Kid murmured.

Cowboy snickered. “It would give us ribbing rights for the rest of our lives. Boy howdy, I’d like to see that, too.”

One of the pretty nurses, who had been walking back and forth maybe a little too obviously, smiled at Hollywood. When he smiled back, she approached him. “Is everything good?” she asked in broken English. Hollywood unsnapped his chin strap and removed his helmet, attaching it to his tech vest. Damn she had sweet brown eyes.

“As well as can be expected,” he said and shifted his body toward hers. She nodded, then smiled as he lowered his automatic weapon. She looked over at Blue who was talking to the doctor, her eyes appraising him. “He’s taken. In fact, all of them are except me.” Why did that make him feel hollow all of a sudden?

She looked back at him. “I’m Inna. You like date?”

“You can call me Hollywood. But I don’t really date. It’s one time, honey. If you’re interested in that, we can have a few laughs.”

She took a breath and pulled a piece of paper out of one of the pockets of her scrubs. She wrote something on it, then handed it to him. “One time. That will be enough.”

“All right. I’ll call you.”

She tucked the paper into his vest. Tank shook his head and laughed, nudging Scarecrow, who looked over and said, “You don’t waste any time, do you, my friend?”

“Nope. I’m an equal opportunity manwhore.”

The language tinged the air blue and the voices got louder. He wondered why Ruckus was out here and where Kat’s boss was. No one seemed to want to break up that shoutfest. Well sooner or later it was going to come to a head, and when it did, someone was going to get hurt.

“Maybe we should break it up?” Hollywood suggested.

Ruckus laughed softly and said, “I think we’ll wait.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” she said, eyeing all six foot, five inches of him. “Just get out of my way.” Going around him was an option, but he looked like he had no intention of letting her get out of this exam room. They’d already been arguing for ten minutes.

“You’re not going anywhere until someone looks at you and gets you patched up.”

She had to admit that their rescue had been so welcome after the hours of torture she’d endured, not to mention, fighting her way out of there would have been difficult at the very least. It was a moment of weakness she didn’t plan to repeat. Her resolve was rejuvenated and her fortitude stronger than ever.

“Who’s going to stop me? You?”

She hadn’t gotten through life by shrinking from a confrontation or allowing anyone to coerce her into backing down from something that mattered to her. She wanted information about Amanda Mack, her colleague who had disappeared, and where her body was so that the agency could bring her home, give her a proper burial, and award her the star on the wall she deserved.

Leaving anyone behind, for Kat, wasn’t just a military thing, it was ingrained in her when she understood that her dad’s remains were still out there, unaccounted for. His grave was unmarked and lost. He deserved to be claimed and buried. She wouldn’t rest until he came home.

She’d learned a valuable lesson of being strong and determined at the age of twelve, after the disappearance of her father, Daniel Harrington. Her mother’s emotional withdrawal had followed, leaving Kat to be the strong one in the family. She’d learned to depend on no one but herself and developed the courage to take chances and fight for what she believed in or wanted. And she never left anyone behind, not like they had with her dad.

Wicked closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then took a step toward her, crowding her back to the empty gurney. “If need be.”

“I can take you, Wicked.”

“You can try, and if you do get past me, there are seven men out there you’ll have to bulldoze through who will haul your ass back in here to wait for the doc.”

“I have a job to do and lives are on the line.”

“It can wait until you get medical attention.”

She gave him a dirty look. “You aren’t my boss.”

“You need a damn keeper.” With his fingers wrapped tightly around his weapon, he remained perfectly still and stared at her, the annoyance on his face more than she usually got out of the stoic SEAL.

“That is most definitely not going to be you,” she said, her voice rising.

His jaw flexed, and something snapped. Wicked was downright furious, and he didn’t have to say a word to express his simmering anger. The energy in the room drew even more tense as if the very molecules were feeding off their power. The hard set of his body, his clenched jaw, and his fuming silence said it all.

Despite the rapid beat of her heart, she remained where she was. She would not be intimidated by him in any way, not professionally, not personally, and most decidedly, not sexually. This whole mission was a bust—not only Amanda’s disappearance, but in getting the intel on the warheads. Why she’d taken this team assignment, knowing Wicked was on the team, was beyond her. She should have run in the other direction. Why did he always have to look so damn good?

That last thought had her insides jumping. He had an amazing body, athletic and honed to perfection from all the workouts he went through to stay on the cutting edge for the SEALs. He was tall, with wide shoulders that tapered to a lean waist. Camouflage pants with the body armor hugged his tight ass and strong-looking thighs. There wasn’t an ounce of excess fat on his lean, muscled frame, from what she could see.

He wore his dark brown hair longer than he should. The thick, glossy strands were tousled around his head from his helmet that he’d set on one of the tables by the door, adding to his brutally handsome face. The man was rugged and a little rough around the edges, tempting in one breath-stealing package. A combat-hardened warrior who made her want things against her will.

What the hell was she thinking? There would be no getting that close to this man who made her second-guess every emotion, every thought, every action she’d ever had.

Dammit, wasn’t she supposed to be working out their differences? Hadn’t she said that very thing when she’d been close to death only an hour ago? Why was this so difficult?

She sighed. Maybe because it was impossible. Maybe she couldn’t let go. Maybe you’re too scared about what will happen between you if you do? She pushed that niggling thought away. What was important here was to find out information not only about her colleague, but about the warheads.

“Dammit, Kat! Will you, for one minute, stop thinking about everything else and take care of yourself! We almost lost you. I almost—”

He cut off his words. She’d expected him to remain quiet and not vent his anger. Wicked didn’t let much show, but the concern for her was naked on his face, and she heard what he hadn’t said—I almost lost you.

They were saved from the awkward moment when the door opened, and Michael Brandon and Ruckus walked through. She stared for a moment, hardly believing her boss was here in Kirikhanistan. But with two operatives who had gone missing, maybe it warranted his attention.

“Michael? What are you doing here?” She and Michael went way back. He’d been her mentor, and he’d told her all about her dad. To have Michael tell her about her father had been gold, and they’d had a brief affair before she’d met her fiancé. It was clear to her that all she had to do was say the word, and he would be happy to pick up where they’d left off. But that wouldn’t ever happen.

“We’ve had two operatives disappear in less than two days.”

“Why didn’t we know there was another operative missing?”

“Because you didn’t need to know that to rescue Kat. Our other operative is under deep cover. It’s possible she’s gone to hiding. We don’t need a bunch of door kickers mucking up her op.”

Kat had been a CIA officer long enough to know not to trust anyone, not even Michael. She had to watch her back because someone had leaked information about Amanda and about her. Amanda was still out there, and if the SEALs hadn’t rescued Kat, she would have been killed. “Tell me you have someone left alive after you rescued me.”

“Yes, our secondary team got someone, wounded but alive, and we’re still processing him. You can interrogate him.”

“After you get medical attention, a shower, and some food,” Wicked said. Her heart contracted. He was thinking of her welfare before her boss, before even herself.

“All right.” It seemed to be the only way for her to get out of here and get back to work.

“What happened?” Michael asked, his tone flat with a hint of accusation.

She stiffened. “I don’t know.”

She glanced at Wicked, then Ruckus, and it was clear they knew she wasn’t telling them everything. She wondered if Michael could tell. She really wanted to keep everything on the down low until she had more to go on.

“We’ll talk later,” Michael said. She knew it was because he didn’t want the SEALs in on any CIA intel that could be useful. It was just the secretive nature of the organization. Keep every shred of information under wraps.

Ruckus and Michael left, but Wicked took up his position by the door.

“You don’t have to stay. I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” he demanded gruffly.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yes. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

His lips flattened into a grim line. “Tough shit. You have eight of them.”

“Wicked, you can go.”

“Are we going to argue about this, too?”

She folded her arms. “You’re the one arguing.”

“You are the biggest pain in the ass.”

She released an exasperated breath. “Ditto.”

He moved fast and was across the room before she could take another breath. He stopped less than a foot away, the heat and scent of him overwhelming her thoughts, making her body tingle. The man’s ability to turn her on, even during a confrontation, was something she wished she knew how to neutralize. Then again, Wicked was so damn sexy and had factored in her thoughts ever since she’d met him. He made her feel things on a deeper level than she wanted to admit then or now. She’d been engaged, and the situation had been and still was so damn complicated.

“I’m staying here with you whether you like it or not.” He gestured behind him with his thumb. “Those guys out there got your back. You might be in spook mode and afraid to trust anyone, but Kat, we will never let you down. Can you say that about Brandon?” He was in her face, his tone low and furious as he delivered his speech.

She met his gaze full of guarded emotions before they were chased away with a scowl. There was bad blood between them, and Wicked never would trust Michael. The scars from the day Wicked had almost died had healed, but the memories were still fresh and raw, the same memories she’d erected barriers to contain.

Barriers that weren’t doing the job.

“What happened, Kat? What are you not saying?”

“I was ambushed. I had no idea they were even there. No intel, nothing to warn me. It wasn’t until that hood went over my head that I had any reason to doubt the CIA.”

“What did they want from you?”

“The names of the men who were with me when I neutralized Golovkin. If they know about that and knew where to find me, who gave them that information? Only the four of us knew.”

He straightened. “Not exactly. The rebels knew about us taking him. Nothing is ever completely secretive. But I told LT about it just to get ahead of the fallout.”

She nodded agreeing with him. It was possible that someone knew more than she thought they did. “There won’t be any fallout, Wicked. The SEALs will stay quiet because we were protecting one of our own. The CIA isn’t going to reprimand me. I got the information about the warheads. Intel they desperately wanted. But if I was hung out to dry, then maybe others were, too.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I can’t say.”

The door opened, and the doctor came in, which meant there was no more conversation. Wicked backed off but his eyes didn’t leave her. His powerful gaze moved over her as she climbed onto the gurney.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Volkov. What brings you here?”

She nodded at him, a stocky man in blue scrubs and a white lab coat. His hair was dark, his wide eyes reminding her of a kewpie doll, sporting bushy eyebrows and an impressive mustache. “Cuts and bruises,” she murmured as Wicked blocked the door with his big intimidating body. The doctor looked nervously over his shoulder at him as Wicked watched his every move.

The doctor examined her, had her take off her filthy shirt, leaving her in nothing but her black lace bra.

Wicked’s only reaction was the hardening of his jaw and his eyes moving over her upper body with a slow slide. All of a sudden, she was breathless. Without even trying, he wreaked havoc on her.

The doctor cleaned her cuts with antiseptic that burned for a moment, then he covered the worst with several bandages. The cut on her temple got butterflies to hold the ends together.

“I’m afraid the gash on your shoulder will need to be stitched.” He proceeded to inject her with a local, and once it went numb, he neatly sewed up the wound. Wicked watched with glittering eyes. When he was done, he covered it with a waterproof bandage. “That should take care of everything. Here is a prescription for the pain. Can I help you with anything else?”

“No. I’m good,” she said taking the small piece of paper out of his hand. He rose and headed toward the door as Wicked moved out of his way. Kat went to put her shirt back on, hissing in pain as her shoulders protested.

Wicked was there, holding the arm, his weapon hanging on a strap against the tac vest. His movements were gentle as he navigated the sleeve up her arm to minimize her effort. When the shirt was on her, he reached down and buttoned it up. Sliding his hand around her waist, he assisted her off the gurney.

She wanted to tell him she could walk on her own, but she recognized the need in him to assist her, and she let go of their animosity. She leaned into him, the tough, solid frame of his big, hard body supporting her. It felt so good to acknowledge his help simply by her acquiescence, to let go of her need to keep him at a distance every single moment of every single day.

Outside the hospital, they all loaded back up into the SUV, and after some driving around to make sure they didn’t have a tail, they proceeded to the CIA compound located on an old military base that had been vacated for their use.

Once they were through the gates, the vehicle pulled up to the barracks. Kat and the SEALs unloaded, Wicked glued to her side. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said, and the others peeled off to claim some empty beds.

Wicked selected the one next to hers, and he propped his rifle and pulled off the tac vest and the camouflage shirt underneath until he was in nothing but a T-shirt that pulled tight across his big chest.

Her belongings had been transferred to the barracks. She picked out some clean clothes and grabbed a towel. When Wicked trailed after her, she turned. “Seriously?”

“This is serious.”

She sighed, knowing this was more for him than it was for her.

“Okay, mother hen.”

There was a soft exhalation of breath and she turned, but if he’d smiled, it was now gone. She went into the shower room, and he followed, turning his back. It was a nice back. She’d repressed these emotions for years, but now they were surfacing and swamping her. If she was being honest, it was a nice face, too. Those amber eyes like fine whiskey meshed with that deep rough-and-tumble voice.

She reached up to release the pins in her hair, and her damn shoulders protested, making her cry out at the pain. Wicked turned and was immediately at her side. “What is it?”

“They hung me by my bound hands and my shoulders are a bit sore. I can’t get my hair down to wash it.”

“Let me,” he said, and before she could give him permission, he had his hands buried in her hair. He gently probed for the pins keeping her hair up in a bun. The feel of his hands and fingers made her look up at him, but he was concentrating on removing the pins. Her only thought was centered on gratitude for the gentle way he removed each one. She stared at him; his bare arms were sculpted muscle twisting tight over long bones and big hands, his tanned skin so smooth looking. His dark lashes were thick and tangled at the edges. His eyes were a clear amber, colored like a wolf and often looked feral except for when he was loosening a woman’s hair. They were softened to the color of golden honey.

His fingers brushed her nape, and she shivered convulsively. He tightened his hand for a moment against her neck, then opened his fingers and slid them through her hair. She shivered again as falling strands tickled her skin. Her eyes caressed his strong jaw, the base of his throat, and the curve of his chest. Standing so close to him, she leaned toward him absently, then caught her balance with a hand at his waist where she felt his knife. He was a weapon of violence and elegance; a master of both.

“I almost have them all,” he murmured. “They’re so small.” But she suspected it was because his hands were so big. Her hair was now half down, and with one more pull, the rest of it cascaded over her shoulders. “Got it.” His lips curved in a bone-rattling smile that drove heat straight down her body, gave her that tight pull low in her abdomen, and created all sorts of inappropriate thoughts.

He met her gaze, his eyes darkening as they slid over her face, touched on her mouth. “Kat, you can trust me. You can trust us.”

That hit a mark, a spot inside her that ached with confusion and uncertainty. She’d been alone so long. Not just the solitude of her job, but in her soul, she’d felt abandoned. It struck her that other than her mother, she didn’t have anyone she could trust. Till now. It was a strange feeling, like a long-held breath finally exhaled.

His hand rested on her shoulder. His gaze was level and reassuring. Kat had to grit her teeth and close her eyes, his careful ministrations setting off another rush inside her. She felt as if she could just lean into him, let those big arms curl around her, and she could get her footing…or would she lose it?

He was so warm, safe, and solid. Easing in a deep, uneven breath she steeled herself, expecting him to withdraw his hand. But he didn’t. It mesmerized her—that thick, fuzzy feeling that sizzled through her.

Chastising herself for thinking that way, she pushed away from him, trying to disconnect from the unsatisfied ache lying thick and heavy in her. But she couldn’t disconnect. No matter how hard she tried, she was tied to this man through heartache and pain. Feeling shaky and out of control, her insides crawled with emptiness. She turned toward the shower, working the buttons on her shirt even through the pain of her sore shoulders. She couldn’t have him touch her again. He turned away as the clothes were removed, and she was naked. She shivered in the cool air, stepping into the heated spray.

As the water cascaded over her, she couldn’t help thinking. If only things had been different, and she’d met him first.

Ten minutes later, she was dressed in a pair of black leggings, thick black socks, sturdy black military style boots, and a white tank top with a black-and-red-checked flannel shirt buttoned over it. She rubbed a towel over her hair, fluffing it as she walked toward him.

He turned. “You’re eating now.”

“Looks like I’m being told what to do again.”

“You’re the one fighting me,” he growled.

Damn, he was irritable, rumpled and grumpy and so freaking…sexy.

Yes,” she said. “I tend to push back against bullies.”

“I’m not a bully. You’re being sensitive.”

She turned and poked him in the chest. “I have a right to be whatever I choose to be, Rion. You don’t get to dictate to me how I’m supposed to act or feel or eat.” She lifted her chin. “I’m having pancakes.”

“Have fucking pancakes. I don’t care. Just…eat something.”

She turned around, and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling at his exasperated tone. Big, bad SEAL bested by a tough redhead. Yeah, she’d have her damn pancakes. Then she was going to talk to Michael about Amanda, then sleep for a few hours. Kat couldn’t leave her out there. She had to bring her home.

But she needed to interrogate their prisoner. She hoped there was plenty of information locked up in their prisoner’s head, and she was going to get him to talk.

Then maybe after that she’d have a moment to decide how she was going to handle Orion Cross, their past, and maybe a future where there was some kind of peace.